The other day, on the way to school, Mark suffered a blow-out. Fortunately, he was both okay and awesome-at-changing-tires, so he wasn’t even late for class. Still, it sucks. It is an expected expense that put a big dent in our budget, in my day, and in my sanity…
We’ll save that tale for another day. Or not, because it was dull as dirt.
Whilst I was trapped – in a bad mood having been totally ignored and then dismissed by the tire guys at Costco (Ted ended up being very helpful in the end, but I was definitely a dissatisfied customer) – at Pep Boys, awaiting a brand new cheap-ass tire installation, I entered their “waiting room” and sat down.
Normally, if I know I am going to be waiting (or if I bother to bring my purse with me) I have a notebook and pen close at hand. I often do my best outlining/brainstorming/plot-sparking while waiting for things at various places. Today, however, I was expecting a quick trip to Costco and, in theory, would be shopping while the work was completed so I wouldn’t be stuck ‘waiting’ around.
Alas, it was not to be and in the end, after making me wait twenty-five minutes, they told me that (despite what they had told my husband…my MALE husband…just minutes before on the phone) they couldn’t install just one tire. Blah blah policy, blah blah, you have to buy two and then we have to rotate the back ones forward and put the new ones on the back and so and and so forth. It may even be true. But it was one of those “Let’s fleece the woman because she’s too dumb to know about big manly cars and stuff” moments.
I haven’t experienced that in years.
But that’s a post for another day. *note to self, sexism in the marketplace*
Since it turns out that I am not too dumb to realize when I’m being screwed over, I took my business to a competitor up the block and was satisfied with their customer service.
What I was not satisfied with, however, was the judge-y eyed bitch in the waiting room. She sat very prim and proper, very daintily, in her chair with her knees crossed, her purse tucked up against her belly, and a hardbound book in her hands. She smiled very politely when I first came in and sat down.
Then, since I was without purse and thus, sans paper and pen, I pulled out my cellphone. And on my phone, I opened up a blank email and began to type. Now admittedly, my phone did beep a few times because I was texting replies to my husband’s inquiries, but only perhaps two or three times in forty-five minutes. The whole rest of the time, my eyes were on the screen and my thumbs were flying across that little keyboard.
And dear LORD did she give me the stink eye about it.
Maybe she was jealous that I had a smartphone. Lord knows I was occasionally envious of people with awesome phones (no, mine is not awesome…at all.) before I got this one.
Maybe she hates smartphones.
Maybe she was having a bad day.
Maybe she’s sad about this zombie-generation we’re raising who never look up from their phones to interact with their freaking LIVES.
Whatever the reason, she kept doing this side-long judgmental glower at me. And damn it, I wanted to punch her. I did. It was just so rude and uncalled for – plus, how little she knew… I wasn’t just zoning out on Facebook or Tumblr or whatever.
I was writing a scene for my novel.
Sorry – I babble when I rant, don’t I?
That’s all. I just had to get that off my chest.
Note: Image is “Mobile phone” by jarpur from SXC.hu